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1/30/2004

Fucking Friday, bro.
Dorks, I am full of spirits. I'm talking 'bout the angel tickles kind, not the Jack Daniels. This new diet is kicking ass. I feel my compounded-frat-boy-beer/LSD gut dropping off. Although, last night the lovely couple and I went out for hamburgers and french fries. I'm allowed one naughty food day a week. I cut it down to just one bad meal for the first week. Now I'm back on the protein kick.
Shit, that last sentence reminded me it was time to eat and I just dropped a peanut into my keyboard it's stuck under the 11111 key. Fuck it, it's not really MY keayboard.
Yesterday I had coffee with one of the sports guys from the Seattle P.I. (the only newspaper with a mustache and a Ferrari 308). It was a nice coffee as such ...
We discussed pro sports versus college sports, LeBron James, journalism and the rigors of being a sports stringer. It being the middle of high school basketball season and since I have a fulltime job that doesn't let me (I just got the peanut out!) get out until 4:30 I won't be able to start working with them for about another month. Then it looks like I'll be covering baseball games or track. Either would be fun.
After that I headed back to work and then out for burgers, which was followed by a 2 mile walk with the L.C. and their dogs. It was fun and wet, as are most good things in life.
Tonight with the R.G. I have a well-earned steak dinner, which will probably be followed by "Family Guy" episodes and a box of wine. I'm so European. Smirksome.
Tomorrow is the big mini golf rematch between me and my lovetickles. A few months ago I, trying to be a nice guy, let her win. Only I wasn't anywhere smooth about it. On the final hole instead of easily missing and making it look real I reared back and hit it as hard as I could.
"Oops."
I forgot I wasn't dating that kid from "Life Goes On". I'm talking about the retarded one, not the girl who wore glasses.
So, there's that tomorrow (lay money on me) and then the cruise and Shins concert on Sunday. My, The Shins on Sunday.
I wish the time would hurry up.
Speaking of which, does that new Ashton Kutcher movie look like it was made by 14-year-olds? Not tempting at all. It has that big fat kid in it who couldn't see the sailboat in "Mallrats" (Kevin Smith isn't original and has hepatitis). I can't stand that guy. Every movie he's in he plays this big tough guy when in real life he'd be too fat to hit me. I'm more scared of the kid who played Goldberg in "The Mighty Ducks" than this clown. Man, if I saw that guy I'd totally switchblade him and his precious Goth hair and "Der, I need a sandwich 'cause I'm a meany" attitude. Dammit, I hate fatties and Goths. Football. Monster trucks. Midwest culture. Closed mind.
Whew, where'd I go there for a second? Back to ultra-hip land ...
Yeah, so the guy's kind of a joke if you ask me. Hip recovery.
On that note, have a great weekend, Dork Johnsons. Let's all of us get laid.

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1/28/2004

Well, shit, dorks, we've been caught.
The lovely and talented Eva Moore has announced on her own blog (http://themeasure.diaryland.com) the fucktastic return of Dorks Don't Rock.
So, to all of you white t-shirt alternative vegetalbe people who might be reading this for the first time ... Hi and don't take my rants (and not boring Dennis "Finger me, I'm special now" Miller rants) too seriously. For I, born of Iowonian man and woman, am but a humble consumer of cheap liqour and lover of all things Zeppelin.
And for you people who have been keeping up with the return of the blog for the past couple of weeks I think it's time you got an answer to the question of where the hell I was for 3 months.
Well, you see, after the layoff I went into what psychiatrists might call a multi-month bender. You see, since it was near the holidays and near the end of the year the only people who were in the market for hiring were cocaine dealers. I didn't become a cocaine dealer, obviously, so I had to go with what work I could. This was mainly sitting in front of a computer looking at screens to find problems.
What problems?
No one could really tell me what problems I was supposed to look for. Yes, it's true. So, for a couple of months I sat in front of a computer screen and scanned through several thousand pages of documents for 8 hours a day. I was fried and poor at the end of the day. But I had to eat and so I had to work. What I didn't HAVE to do was write in my blog. So, I didn't.
Also, the days around here became supremely short. I lived in darkness like a beast cast from job security into the pits of temping.
But now things are definitely turning around and I am on a life-improvement kick.
This is why I'm doing the diet, making amends with my alcoholic mother, focusing on maintaining the love between me and the redheaded R. sexpot, looking for a better job (although the non-brain-frying one is good for now and puts little rush on me to find a better one) and paying off debts occured by Christmas and such.
Speaking of which ...
So, I called this trendy clothing company today that I have an account with. I was wanting to pay off my card and such. So, perplexed by my balance, I asked when they received my last payment.
"November 8th"
"What the hell?!? November? That's not right!"
"Sir, the information I have in front of me says you haven't paid since November."
"Well, dammit, the information is wrong .."
"Sir, what it says is ..."
"I don't give a damn what it says ..."
"that fines have been ...
"Stop talking."
"...added and that to remove .."
"Listen, I want you to stop talking right now. I am done listening to you. Put on your supervisor." ( I really said this, by the way, and he shut up).
('only the lonely' on muzak)
"hmmly la lmmmly ... mm, mm, mm ,ummm-m-mm-mm"
"Hello, Mr. Kinkade, this is another annoying peson. You wanted late fees removed?"
"No, I was concerned because that guy said I hadn't paid on my card since November."
"It shows us here that you made a payment on January 8th."
"Well, you need to teach that guy the difference between November and January"
Well, I won't bore you with the rest of the story but they were jerks. I like beef jerky not jerks, beefy.
Yesterday I got in touch with someone from the "big paper" and set up a meeting for tomorrow. We gonna talks about hows I'd be a good little writer for their big ol' paper. I'll update you on that later.
My The Shins tickets came.
My, The Shins tickets came.
My, The Shins tickets CAME?
Moving on.
Another paper has responded to a little 40 word start to a porno story that I sent in. It's not the porno thing I mentioned before, it's another porno thing. The world is full of porno things.
The deal is this, I write a 40 word opening to a story and if they like it I finish up the story by recording it on a server. Then they run the 40 word snipet and if people are titilatted they call up and listen to the end. If I get the most people to listen I win something, probably more porn. Well, I have a little problem. First, read my intro.
After class I stopped at the cafeteria for a can of pop. I couldn't carry it because my arms were full of books.
"Got any lube? I know a place to put that," I heard my sorority sister Heather say.
Awesome, eh? Lesbian soda can sex! Oh my god, I'm so wickedly pornirksome. Except ...
Who the fuck is going to listen to the story when they call up and hear a guy with a deep voice saying this ...
"So, we went to my room and got wickedly naked. I mean all the way with tits and all of it. We were such hot chicks. Then I got that lube that was mentioned in the ad thing and Heather was like 'Damn, I want to do nasty shit with this soda can'."
I really want to win this contest and I think I have a good start. I just need to convince some chick to pretend she's getting Sprited (dibs on this newfound euphanism). Maybe it's time to use the old "Get the girlfriend drunk and suggest the unsuggestable" technique.
Speaking of which (I am full of seques today) I spent the night with my precious yesterday. We watched the "Real World: San Diego". Two of them got arrested for really nothing at all. We have a theory that people are just sick of MTv and the likes and are looking for any reason to lock up people who associate with them.
That would be awesome. So awesome that I do a chair-jig thinking about it.
Well, I think that's enough for this smirksome Wednesday. All of you S.C. Democrats, all 17 of you, vote for Dean. He's the non-Botox-filled-non-Bush-loving candidate. AND HE'S A LITTLE NUTS! AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH, DORKS!
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1/27/2004

Afternoon, dorks. Let's get started.
I'm feeling very efficient today. This stems from the high protein diet (Today: pork loin, diet pepsi, peanuts and little sausages ... the ape women brought in the sausages as an apeasment to their God of Beuracracy and I took part, bare chest marked with the stain of a sweedish meatball handprint and chanting "Order toner, envelopes, overtime req-ui-si-tion") and a very restful 9 hours of sleep that I got last night.
Things learned last night at the Lovely Couple's Den of Lack-of-T.V.
1.) An online Rorschach test told me that I was fueled by "imagination". Imagine that. Get it? Get it? AHHH-Hahahahaha! Fuck me, my mind and center of my being is smirksome!
The very sweet and kind member of the Lovely Couple's results said that she is driven by "Peace". Now isn't she a "piece" of work. Holy shit! Where do I come up with this stuff?
2.) My I.Q. is 138. I don't know if that is good or if like bank balances we're supposed to keep those a secret. I made a 1280 on the S.A.T. also. There, I've said it all. I've broken the secret bond of man by divulging my scores to the public. My soul is secret no more; it is baren, 138 and 1280. Gaze upon the naked essence of man.
Back to the I.Q. thing, the internet said that it means I can have my rule over 98% of society. I don't know if I should get too excited though. The internet also promised me free porn.
I don't think I'd want to rule 98% of society. Maybe like 7 or 8 percent and have a little island to myself.
3.)The book "Franny and Zooey" by J.D. Salinger is not about lesbians. I knew this, but I think I put off reading it (and thus completing the trifecta that is Salinger) because I thought it'd be like reading Cosmo or something.
"Silly Franny, mascara should match your belt and not your shoes."
"Oh, Zooey, you are so 1941"
Welcome to dorksdontrock, folks, the home of "Sexist recreations of America's great authors". Next week, Edgar Allan Poe.
"And quoth the stripper, 'Let's do blow'."
Actually, I put off reading it because one of my psychotic ex-girlfriends (one of the two that were certifiable, the others just smelt bad) read it in college and went on for two weeks about how good it was. She also went on for two weeks about how she loved wearing clothes with cherries on them. So, of course, the book was, by default, pre-judged as not up to par.
I was wrong. It is good. Om.

Other tidbits.
Kyle got into a car accident yesterday. He cut off a big truck in his little Miata and got spun around. Apparently he smacked his head on his roof and got a tail light knocked out.
"Yeah, dude, I saw that coming. You are a pretty reckless driver."
"I think the cop gave me a ticket because of my blue hair."
Naw, Kyle, it was probably because you were swinging a ton of steel around I-5 like it was a misappropriated yo-yo.
Wait, I should probably call him and make sure that he didn't have a concussion.
Well, he wasn't there. They call when people go in comas, I'll find out eventually.
R. Girl, her friend, Kyle and I all have a little cruise about the Puget Sound planned for this Sunday. After that R. Baby and I go to see The Shins. How ultimately hip am I?
Well, I need to return to my work and my life. It's been nice spending this time with you, dorks. I hope all on the East Coast are warm and not buried. By snow, not alive, that is, in reference to the buried thing.


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1/26/2004

Sleepy, groggy, protein-packed and half awake. And then this comes on ...
"Face down in the gut-ter, won't ad-mit de-feat though his clothes are soiled and bah-lack ..."
Damn me like the devil, dorks, them Dropkick Murphys (quoted song being "Barroom Hero") can pump up even the greyest Seattle blues. Motivation to write about rain here.
Before we go any further, dorkles, let me just get something off of my chest. I don't give a fuck that Dennis Miller is a conservative now. However, this is apparently a scoop to every news editor in the fucking country. Everytime I open the paper or go to cnn.com or the other website I'm addicted to even though the fucker that runs it is a puppet for the ragime there is fucking goateed Dennis with his irksome smirk. He's fucking smirksome.
"9/11 changed me," is his usual quote. "I couldn't be a liberal any more, the terrorists made me think harder about this than I had to think about whether they should have pulled a Fredo fishing trip on Coppola's daughter after 'Godfather III'."
I just made that last quote up.
This whole thing bothers me for two reasons.
1.) Who gives a fuck? Mike Myers isn't funny any more, why should you stay the same.
2.) I am bothered by people who use 9/11 as a soap box for their moral staunchness. (Typical asshole: "When I saw the planes hit the buildings I asked God how things could be as such and he said to me 'You are so special, I wish I was there to tickle your belly'. So I ask you to tickle my belly as the Lord would do.") Now if Dennis Miller had been hit by two fucking jet liners then maybe I'd care more about his personal account of the situation.
So, with that said, let's swap weekend stories like a couple little pleated honey bun-dos at the tea station, eh?
Friday night was quiet as predicted.
Saturday was movies (porn and horror).
Yesterday the sexy R. and I went on a little Seattle loop. For those of you who aren't familiar with Seattle, look at a map. We started near Kent, drove up the western shore of Lake Washington to Mercer Island and then took 90 into Bellevue and back down to Kent. Why? Because we hadn't done that before, nosefuck.
We went to our dock and threw bread at the ducks. However, the seagulls were more determined to get the bread and the ducks didn't seem to care whether they got any or not. Maybe it was some twisted bird S&M, master/slave, gull/duck situation. Maybe the seagulls were just faster.
Do you know why one side of a "V" of geese is longer than the other?
Because one side has more geese on it.
R. Girl got me with that one. She was virtually attacked by seagulls!
Virtually (adv.) -about, just about, almost, most, all but, nearly, near, nigh, virtually, well-nigh -- ((of actions or states) slightly short of or not quite accomplished
"Virtually everything on sale!" = "Not everything on sale!"
"Virtually lower prices store wide" = "Not lower prices store wide"
Just a little lesson for you dorks out there in the "virtually"-obsessed advertising-permeated world.
Moving on.
"Cabin Fever" is so wickedly awesome! It's Dorks Don't Rock meets Evil Dead 2.
Protein diet still going. Little sign of progress so far.
I think that's about it, dorks.
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1/23/2004

Moving so fast, dorks, taking a minute to say hello.
What to say ... I've been dipping in and out of work to run errands all day. One of the ape-women from upstairs noticed my lack of being.
"Brent, I haven't seen you all day. Just making sure you were here."
"SWITCHBLADE!"
No, I just did my little "I'm here, ape-woman" jig for her, tossed her a banana and went about my own monkeyish work.
You know what? If I had to holler something each time I was challenged or excited I think "switchblade" would be a good one.
"Sir, you can't supersize porn."
"SWITCHBLADE!"
Of course, I'd have to get a switchblade for it to be convincing. Hell yeah, one of those little springloaded plastic ones you played with as a kid. You know, to have all of the humor of a stabbing and none of the blood and S.T.D. exposure.
Well, I have a weekend to do after this. Not sure what it will be. More than likely it will be a quiet evening with R. Girl tonight and perhaps this neato thing at Safeco Field tomorrow. They're having some kind of fan appreciation thing and for 10 bucks you get to run around the bases, throw some pitches in the bullpen, take some batting pracitce, etcetera, more .... Mayhaps that would be fun after some Jack.
So, I've been mainly eating high protein things the past couple of days. I kind of feel like a dork testing out this new diet that all the fatty dorks are doing these days. Today I ate half a jar of peanuts, some pork tenderloin (good), some bean salad (beany) and an apple (because I feel sexy eating fruit).So, fuck off, you grocery snoops.
"Raised in Car-o-li-na, I'm not like that."
Forget it ... it's hard to explain.
Well, I got an e-mail from my Mom yesterday. She seems to be doing better and that is a good thing. However, conviction to stay with something for life is not a common trait in my family. I just hope some exceptions can be made for alcoholics, modern love and unsweet iced tea.
That's right, I said I feel sexy eating fruit, dorks.
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1/21/2004

Morning, dorksluts. I have some busi to take to the streets. To tide you over here is one of the only two entries I put into my other blog. Kyle gave me an idea to just do my "stream of history" blog on this website every once in awhile, which is a good idea because, to be honest with you, sometimes I taint got much to say.
Well, here it is. I'll write more later.

((2004-01-09 - 10:23 a.m.

Here's what happened today ...

IN 1984!


Long time beauty queen Clara Peller first appeared in Wendy's infamous "Where's The Beef?" commercials.

A transcript of that commercial is posted below.


An old woman: (pointing at a hamburger) Where's the Beef?


America: (laughs for 15 years)


The commercial prompted other companies to follow suit. However, not all slogans caught on as well.

For example Duracell's "Where's the battery acid?" campaign was quickly cut short when children, most notably child actor Punky Brewster (Sunbelt Farmface), went looking for the battery acid inside Double-A and Triple-A batteries.

Farmface was forced to leave her multi-billionaire Punky Brewster media empire in 1985 due to severe acid burns on her face and throat. She became a posterchild for the "Hey Kids Battery Acid Ain't Kool-Aid" organization, which spawned it's own catchy slogan, "Acid Bad, Chocolate Good".

Peller went on to enjoy critical success with her tell all novel "The Beef Was Never There". The book exposed the sordid history of the Wendy's corporation. Here's is an exerpt from the chapter title "Frosty, French Fry and Freedom"


It was the 4th day that I had been locked in the basement. I knew Wendy would be back soon and with her would come the sauldering iron and ball peen hammer. I had to escape, I had to get to Dave Thomas before that red-headed #$@! If the world was ever going to find out the truth about Frosties I had to make my move now.

From my time in the Marine's I was trained to kill with my bare hands, but those bare hands were handcuffed to a radiator. In a dark corner of the basement I saw a harpoon gun left over from the shark hunt Wendy and I had gone on last summer. Those few days in Florida were the good times, but they were gone. All that was left was pain, a red-headed @#$#, a harpoon gun, 4 stuffed sharks and a deadly secret ....


Peller did eventually escape that basement of horrors and her and Wendy "Harpoon Face" Thomas went on to rekindle their friendship and hit the road as a country-western duo with such hits as "The Judds are Fatties" and "The Judds Suck".

Peller died in a freak shark attack in West Texas in 2001. Witnesses say it was "the most awesome, wicked" thing they had ever seen.

At Peller's funeral, Ronald McDonald gave the eulogy.

"When Clara gets to Heaven we all know she's going to ask God where the beef was all of this time. And I think we all agree that it was probably in her big heart. Super Size Amen."

Super Size Amen, indeed.))
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1/20/2004

"Brent, what kind of people do you think are stupid?"
The kind in this story ...
I'm at a new job right? So, it goes without thinking that only the people who had this job before me and God know what to do. Well, maybe instead of getting upset at the new guy for not doing something for you when he had no idea he was supposed to do it because your fat childless gray haired ass was too busy daydreaming about "American Idol" and how to look good by Easter on the Atkins diet to talk to me about it you should pull that grande latte out of your grill hole and talk to him. But, nope, when you get asked by your manager why it wasn't done you blame it on the new guy so he gets talked to about it. And then you have the nerve to call me and act as if I'm holding up the progress of the free world because due to the inability of UPS to make things appear in people's hands you have to wait an extra day when really you'd be O.K. and could keep eating your cake for Peggy's birthday and planning your weekend trip to Ann Taylor if you had been a fucking adult!
That person is the person I hate. But, what can you do? Some people have to be the type to step in front of buses.
Here is an actual handmade sign I saw at work today. I guess everyone was invited to add their own two cents. Someone laid down a nickel of stupidity.

What does the customer expect of us?
1.)To Listen
2.)Call Back
3.)Paitience
4.)Large adjustments
5.)To agree with them
6.) To be KNOWLEGDEBLE
7.) Even larger adjustments

KNOWLEGDEBLE? Please, God, let me use my degree at some point in my life where the employees aren't so knowlegdeble. Oh, and by the way, this sign has nothing to do with my job. It's just something I saw. I have no need for paitience or "even larger adjustments" to vague things in need of adjustment.
Man, it's people like that that get under my skin.
"What will make us better?"
"Large adjustments"
"To what, Cindy?"
"Even larger adjustments?"

Back to my hip life. Kyle has quit Microsoft. Well, he was going to have to take his 100 day break soon enough and he was offered another job so what he hell. He wants for me and he to gee on a road tree this wee to Portlee.
I haven't spent any time in Portland and think I might take him up on it.
I'm now in search of a snowboard online. Must find one soon so R. Girl and I can thrash together. Also, started thinking about Valentine's Day ideas today. I'm leaning towards a pony or what I told her I got her last night.
"I hollowed out Mt. Rainier and it's now your house."
How wicked would that be?
Other things I have to do to maintain a certain level of chic.
1.) Rotate my C.D. selection for the truck.
2.) Get a new pair of crosstrainers and a sweater.
I've got a headache and no hangover. I think I need to get out of this place for lunch. I will, dorks.
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1/19/2004

All right, back on track. Monday morning, chugging a liter sized Diet Pepsi and digesting a PowerBar. Give me a moment, dorks, just trying to remember what I did this weekend.
Oh yes ... Friday R. Girl and I had a very romantic dinner at the International House of Pancakes. You see, I feel it's important to treat the girl you care about with a fancy dinner at a foreign restaurant, preferably at one boasting the all encompasing "international" label. I didn't know they had never-ending pancakes there and now I have a new mission in life. The man near us ate 6 pancakes and his son was in such awe. Being the ass dork I am I quickly boasted I could eat 8 pancakes.
"You can eat EIGHT pancakes?!?!" said an astonished R. Girl.
"Dad, that man can eat more pancakes than you. I feel robbed of my innocence and my one true hero. Goodbye, father, I care not for your hypocrisy of breakfast baked goods nay no longer," said the man's ex-son.
But, I went with the patty melt instead. Mainly because our waiter told us that someone ate 46 pancakes once and my hoped died and so did the boy.
Saturday me and the R. went to check out a "Mega snowboad and ski super sale blowout" that boasted of sales that would make GAP girls cream. Suck my dick if they were lying. They were, so blowjobs around. Oh well, I am excited about taking up snowboarding and the chance of messing up my evermore fucked up knees ...
Speaking of which ... that is another thing that is new in my life. Bad knees. They fucking feel like someone poured sand in them sometimes. I've actually thought to myself "Wait a minute, I need to rest my knees before I go any further". Shut the fuck up, body. I finally listen to your hacks and hangovers and make amends to change and this is your fucking thanks? Bad knees? Whatever, I'm back off the wagon again, ass.
And back to the reality of non-interpersonal body arguments.
"Shut up,leg"
"Bite me, molars"
Train of thought slipping ... was talking about something ... maybe it was ...
Oh yeah, Saturday. So, we skipped snow shopping and checked out some new sights (for me anyways) in Seattle. We watched kids play in a fountain and I ate too much popcorn and got a stomach ache. I won R. Girl a stuffed dinosaur playing skeeball and she won me an army man with the game where you put the quarters in and then more quarters fall but it was tokens not quarters.
Sunday was lazy day.
Talk about ....
Emotions. Maybe, sure. There was some tension between R. Girl and me of late. We talked last night and got to the root of the problem and dealt with it. I definitely feel better about the whole situation (which I'm not revealing what it is because it is embarassing), but not about the fact that there was something between us. We still haven't had an argument or really been mad at each other and I like that lots. Oh well, it's growth and growth is good and speaking of growth ...
Remember, the girls in the middle are always the first to fall off.
Shins segue right there, hipper dorks ...
Oh yeah, e-mails I've received today. Three great ones.
Eva finally wrote back. Yippee.
Someone at the "big paper" (as my dad would call it) has written back to me about working as a sports stringer. Must write back and follow possibility further. Monster like write, write good sports stringer. Sonics win game, make monster happy, freethrows many, rebounds help.
And I got one from a guy who runs an adult-industry "the onion"-based website where I could make a fatty G a month to write parody like articles about porn. I feel weird about this, and don't see how I can really write too much parody about porn.
"In a stunning development today, people got naked and had orgasms on each other."
I'd feel like I was selling out my forward thinking sexual hipness for the mass puritan culture. But then again, a G a month to write funny porn is good. 10 200-word articles a week though? Man, I don't know. Maybe.
Oh, and K-Dogg the Killa called me on Friday. My old high school and sometimes college drinking buddy might be moving out here in August. Oh joy abounds and hearts leap like leopards, glory days of debauchary in Seattle!
Later, dork princesses. I might or might not be wearing women's underwear on a dare from R. Girl.
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1/16/2004

For the time being ...
DORKS DON'T ROCK IS BACK, SLUTFACES!
... that is until I get sick of doing it again and give it up for a few months.
But until then, let's get reaquainted, dorks.
So, I know you are all asking "Where the fuck have you been?" or "Why the fuck are you back?" or "Could a ninja beat a polar bear barehanded?". The answers are "Seattle", "Creative recharge" and "I'm going with yes."
Quick list of things that have happened to me.

-The day before Halloween (4 days before my birhtday) I was laid off from the Roy job. I wasn't too upset. I saw it coming. Something like 4,000 people were laid off that day.
I read somewhere that everyone should be laid off at least once in their life. It's supposed to build character. You know what else builds character? Getting stabbed. Do you want to be stabbed? Sometimes people who come up with advice should be advised to eat glass.
Being laid off for a few weeks sucked. It sucked harder than a pipe whore. I felt like a bum, I had no money, I had no reason to shave or shower and I had to put up with questions from employers like ...
"Do you know how to program the 5RTX transtickledoober and create specs. in a 3P format?"
"I know how to grow a beard. Wanna hire me?"
or
"Hi, Brent, nice to meet you. My name's Waste O'Yourtime. Thanks for meeting with us today. We aren't going to hire you."
So, I no longer work at the space commander job as Roy 2. I now am working at a place pretty much across the street. I still do things with paper and boxes and stuff. Mainly I listen to mix C.D. I made my Junior year in college with such hits as "Rosanna" by Toto, "Werewolves of London" by the late Warren Zevon, "Baba O' Reily" (or "Teenage Wasteland" to Creed fans) by The Who, "In the Meantime" by Spacehog and ... I'm tired of listing. Lists are for fools and wives. Moving on, dorks!
-I'm still with R. Girl. In fact, my sweet dork faces, we have been looking at apartments together. I am coming out of my bachelor shell ever so slowly. Example, I went to IKEA TWICE in one weekend a few weeks ago. I actually said these words, "OH, we need a chopping block (a cutting board in non-me language)". Can you believe it? The same guy who just a year ago skipped graduation so he could make out with Ginger Lynn ( www.gingerlynn.com ) and the same guy who has had this conversation
"Dude, don't talk to her. She's a skank."
"Did you just call me a skank?"
"No, I said .. I ... drank too much?"
is going to IKEA bi-weekly and picking out chopping blocks! It's actually pretty nice. I know you are still thirsty for the tear-jerking "I love her like the dickens" sap right here, nosefucks, but you still ain't getting it. Just know that things are great and I've discovered it's easier to have a meaningful relationship with a girl when you actually like her as a person. Wonders!
-I have cut back on my drinking and smoking. I can go up to 4 days without a cigarette now. I don't know if I'm quitting or I just keep losing my cigarettes and my drive to buy more. I actually went for two days without noticing that I had lost a pack of cigarettes. And the best part? I wasn't drunk when I lost them.
So, I've embraced a more sober and healthier lifestyle. I actually drink Diet Pepsi and like it. I also avoid McDonalds. I'm semi-healthy B now.
Why the lifestyle change?
Two reasons.
-I no longer live with Kyle. The KingDork forgot that his lease was up at the end of December NOT the end of March. So, we had a mad scramble last month to find a place to live.
I'm not saying Kyle drove me to drink it's just that when one lives in a bachelor pad he must bachele (a new verb). So where do I live now?
I'm staying at the lovely couple's place until R. Girl and I move in together, which should be at the begining of April. It's fun. They don't have cable, but they do have a shitload of DVDs and a couple of dogs to play with. Plus they have Risk. The better half and I have talked about starting up a game. World domination here I come!
-And the other reason for my newfound health awareness. My mom has finally admitted she has a problem with alcohol and has started going to A.A. meetings. It was a big ugly ordeal that led up to the proverbial straw and I don't really feel like talking about it, ever. But she's apparently better now and such and such and such and such. Not right now, dorks, maybe later.
Other random things.
-It snowed a few inches here last week. The Better Half and I went and played frisbee golf in it. It was awesome. Oh yeah, after over a decade of shacking up together and scoffing marriage, the L.C. finally got hitched in a Britney Spears style weekend jaunt to the place where you sign marriage papers (not that far out of the bachelor shell to know what you do to get married proper) and they did it for ... INSURANCE PURPOSES! Now that's straight up fucking the system.
-R. Girl got me tickets to go see the Lions and the Seahawks play for my birthday. She also got me a B.B. gun for Jesus' birthday. We spent Christmas and Thanksgiving together. She sprained her ankle by falling down some stairs on Thanksgiving so I got to play Super Boyfriend and take care of her.
There were other things, but you know what, let's just start fresh. If I remember things from the few months I was amissin' as I start this blog up again I'll relate them. Word.
I tried to start another blog. It was a cool idea and I might still do it. It's at http://mahatmajones.diaryland.com and the premise is that I take an actual historical event that happened on a given day and stream of concious my own version of history.
I interviewed with Microsoft the other day.
I'm hungry and I writing this blog makes me feel like I'm explaining to a needy girlfriend why I didn't call her after a night of boozing. I'm going to run downtown and pickup my paycheck now. Maybe take in a skin flick or a bagel sandwich.
Later, dorks. I've always loved you.



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